My car won’t work,
I’m totally *******!
It’s acting totally rude;
Imbued with a bad attitude.
Like a metal horse
That needs to be shoed
It’s behavior is almost lewd
Waiting around for a rich guy
To come and be the dude
I checked to see if the problem is
Lack of water or life-giving crude,
Oil that is, Texas tea.
It’s silly to expect wealth of me
Always broke, an automotive joke.

All I can do is sit and croak
Like the frog on a log spoke
And since my car chose to croak
I gave my mechanic a poke.
He decided my wallet was too full.
Now I’m in the thrall of a lull
With too much idle time to ****.
I’ll pay the bill, I know I will,
But still, this whole thing is a pill.
It’s not that I hate holding still,
It’s just that I have so few frills
And this is financially uphill.
I will make it work somehow
But for now, it’s back to the plow
That I’ll pull but don’t know how.
A result of the here and the now.

I may just be whining, not sure
But I see no ready-made cure
For now my sense of loss is pure
And there may be no sinecure.
I just have to grin and endure.
I walk and I wait and I cuss
Waiting for the ever-late bus
To ride with other unfortunates.
At least I’m not on a date
And being embarrassed to state
The case of my pauperish state.
Really, none of this is great.

summer is sunlight warming your jeans
chlorine up your nose
mosquito bites on the back of your knee
sweat pooling behind your ears
late nights and late mornings
scalding stone walkways under bare feet
dry grass crumbling between your fingertips
burrs in your socks
sunscreen dotting your nose
air conditioner whirring to life
fans spinning so hard they shake the room
car rides over hours of half-melted tar
lake water soaking your tennis shoes
afternoons spent at home

afternoons spent wishing you were somewhere else

The faintest click of a radio button
a song that I swear I'd long forgotten

and I journey back to another time
happily quiet, but humming inside

running much faster than blue dinosaurs
I Spy much more than a boy really saw

different than walking, different like flying
moving so fast they can't hear my sighing

tremours of laughter on Radio 2
then singing out loud junior choice tunes

even when songs fade away in the hills
I'd rather be here than back at home still

wary of Jenny's sharp buckled shoes
breathing in clouds from dad's old Saint Bruno

holding on tight to my cool DB5
m'Lady's pink Rolls is off for a drive

I always I Spy with my little eye
3 for a girl and then 4 for a boy

I Spy mum’s constant quick fingered knitting
row after row with Sally still kicking

then I Spy Janet swinging her feet
I Spy other kids in other back seats

I wish for grandma's baked cherry biscuits
I see the first sign that we're near Tonbridge

these are old snatches of life in the 60s
this is me looking back from my 50s

I'll sit still back here, just one back seat song
from family trips where I still belong

Wheels rolling,
him,
so controlling.

Rain hitting
me,
feeling so fitting.

Parked feelings,
him,
thinking of all our dealings.

Front seat flirt,
me,
vulnerable and hurt.

Yet there is hope,
him,
convincingly tying a rope.

Hanged by fear,
me,
killed by my dear.

You & me
tuning into
us.

i keep having
the same reoccurring nightmare
where i'm driving and i need to stop
but my brakes won't work

it reminds me of when
i'm sitting with my friends
and i see all their subtle glances at each other
each time i take it just a little too far
because i always do
always

i can never
just get my brakes to work

The seat next to mine is empty.

No one is singing the songs back to me.

No one is interrupting my calculated playlist with bad old songs.

The comments on my driving that used to bother me,
I now miss.

There are no shoe marks on the dashboard,
no trace of adventure.

The over excitement about the view that used to make me roll my eyes isn't there.

I miss these silly things that I took for granted.

Time.
Wispy, sugary, gentle time.
Floating through the air.
Long afternoons in the sun,
Gentle warmth on my legs as I lie.
Time floats by like dandelion seeds
On a windless day.

Time.
Sticky, rotten, putrid time.
Dripping through my fingers.
A day in the car,
Breathing the same air you have for hours.
Time slides down my limbs like a slug
In the early hours.

Time.
Bubbly, hot, electric time.
Reaching to touch– for a second.
Final bows,
A pure high that flows through every vein.
You blink, and then it's over,
Existing solely in memory.

Time.
Sharp, tight, abrasive time.
Sitting heavy on my chest.
Yelling, quick movement.
It closes in, overwhelming, stifling.
When I finally breathe, it's much later,
Like my sanity, it's gone.

Time.
Moving, fluid, dancing time.
Existing without a thought.
It moves on, when we don't.
Day, by week, by month, by lifetime.
I observe it passing, a train out the window,
And I wave.